Nights Like These
by Sebe
Summary: Outside POV. Season 6 vague spoilers. Two men show up in the dead of night, one bleeding, the other damaged


AN: Set in Season 6 after Sam gets his soul back. Dean's been taking care of his re-souled, hell scarred little brother, but now Dean's been hurt on a hunt. Sam has to force himself out of his head and back into reality long enough to help Dean. Unstable!Sam Protective!Hurt!Dean

AN2: Kinda based off the vague preview spoilers about the boys going to see a doctor with a "life or death problem". I think it's episode 11 or 12 maybe? But that's what spawned it anyway.

Summary: Outside POV. Season 6 vague spoilers. Two men show up in the dead of night, one bleeding, the other damaged

**Nights Like These**

The doctor opened his door to an uncommon, (and yet not so uncommon with his clientel), sight. Standing in the doorway were two men, both soaked through from the heavy rain. One man, shorter, hung slightly against the other, barely conscious. His arm was slung over the others' shoulders, supporting his weight.

The doctor, Jack, was used to helping people like this. Hunters, he knew immediately. Even if they weren't wrecked looking and covered in blood, they just had an air about them. But these two…something was off with these two.

The taller one, supporting the other, was panting. His eyes so intense, focused and crazed, trained on the physician that a shiver ran down his spine.

"H…Help him."

The words seemed painful to push out. Both these kids were in bad shape. Both shaking and the slumped over one had claw marks across his chest. Evaluating his options, Jack paused a moment.

Seemed a moment too long to the conscious one.

Before he could blink, the shaggy-haired man had a gun in his face. He repeated more sternly.

"Help him."

The doctor nodded and ushered them inside, the taller one practically dragging the other, but never letting him fall. Or dropping the gun away from Jack's face. He was seen as a threat and he was used to it. If they didn't work alone, hunters tended to get very attached to their partners.

"Bring him over here." The doc gestured to a table on the side of the room.

Cautiously, the brunette complied and laid the other down, seeming very reluctant to lose contact.

The kid stayed nearby. He had lowered his weapon, though the safety was still off, and he never let his eyes stray from his partner's still form. Jack prayed that his companion's wounds weren't life threatening. Sure he was concerned as a doctor, but he also knew if his newest patient didn't make it, Jack himself wouldn't have much of a future.

This other kid, he was…off. Every inch of him shook and he seemed to fight with himself to remain focused. But the hand holding that gun never so much as twitched. However fragile his hold on his own mind, this kid wasn't taking chances with his partner's safety. It seemed enough to ground him.

The doctor began checking the unconscious man over.

"What happened?" No respone. "What's his name?" Still no answer and Jack sighed. He made his words more forceful.

"Look, I need you to tell me what happened if I'm going to help him."

Shaggy, soaked hair just barely revealed that the stranger had turned his gaze to the doctor. Evaluating him and discerning intentions. Almost like he could see right through Jack if he tried hard enough, hell, maybe he could. There were a lot of unknowns in the realm of the supernatural and hunters were nothing but another part of that world.

"Dean. His name's Dean. Black dog…" The boy's eyes wandered off to the corner of the room they were in and his voice dropped off. Hazel eyes blinked rapidly a few times and he shook his head shortly.

"Brother…he's my brother." He bit his lip. "Black dog…"

The doctor sighed. It was pretty much what he'd expected. Working with hunters, he'd seen this before. The job got to be too much. The darkness closed in until all you could see was death and evil and blood. Sometimes, the mind can only take so many hits before it snaps. He felt sympathy for the stranger who had hauled in his wounded partner, brother, and gentled his tone.

"What's your name?"

"…Sam."

"Okay, I'm gonna help your brother, Sam. I promise."

Sam looked up. His eyes focused and unfocused at the doctor, like he was trying so hard to remain calm, useful. But clinging to reality seemed a painful battle he was slowly losing. Jack began stitching up the other brother's wounds and gave him antibiotics and painkillers.

"Why don't you have a seat?" The guy looked about ready to collapse himself.

Sam nodded slowly and sat on the cold tile floor as close to his brother as he could. Not exactly what the doc had meant, but he sensed that any further argument would be pointless.

As he worked on Dean, he would glance over at Sam. The kid kept making these jerky movements, eyes constantly scanning the room. He was sure he heard him mumbling something to himself, but he couldn't make it out.

Minutes later and Sam was ever further gone, hitting his head back against the stone wall. Not hard enough to cause real damage, but still an alarming sight.

"Sam?"

No answer. The kid was unresponsive, practically catatonic now.

There was nothing to be done for him, so the doc turned back to the injuries he could deal with, the physical ones.

Near the last stitch, green eyes opened blearily.

"Dean?" the doctor ventured.

Sluggishly, those eyes met his, then scanned his surroundings. The moment awareness returned was easily identified as Dean's eyes went wide and he sat up, looking about frantically.

"Where's Sam?"

"Calm down. You're going to be okay, but you have to lie back."

"Where's my brother?" And there was so much fear and anger and fierce protectiveness there that the doctor was sure he'd have had another gun in his face if his patient had been armed.

"Your brother brought you in. He's…resting."

"Bullshit." Dean growled. "Sammy can't…I have to get to him. He can't himself. I have to take care of him." With the fever adding gasoline to the fire, the doctor tried to assuage the fears of the injured man, but Dean wouldn't be calmed. He couldn't hold him down, but he wasn't finished patching him up yet and his demands were becoming more frantic.

"Where's Sam? Where is he! Where-"

"Dean…"

The soft voice stopped the brother cold and he turned in the direction of the voice.

Sam had edged close enough to the table to snake his hand up onto the hard surface. Dean bridged the gap and grabbed his hand.

"Sammy. Sammy, thank god." He looked down at the still very much out of it Sam. Sam licked his lips and looked up in return.

"You need…to lie down."

"Are you hurt?"

Jack could tell that it was taking everything Sam had left in him to be here like this.

"…Lie down."

Dean sighed and did as his brother requested, but neither let go of each other's hands.

"Demanding little shit." Dean smiled affectionately and Sam's lips curved up.

Settled down, Jack was able to finish his work. Dean was knocked out into a drug induced slumber and was out of any danger so the doctor turned his attention to Sam, still sitting on the cold tile floor. He was shaking, and clutching onto his brother's hand in much the same way Jack imagined they had done when they were just children seeking comfort, the warmth of the only presence constantly at their side.

Sam was mumbling again with a smile curving his lips. The doctor had to bend down to hear him.

"…it. Did it…got him here. Dean…Dean…did it. You'll be okay."

God, what had this kid seen? What had he been through to be this gone?

"He'll be alright now, Sam. Because of you."

Hazel eyes flickered to his for an instant, gauging and wild. Seeming to find what he was looking for, he relaxed a bit.

Sam nodded and curled up against the table. His eyes closed and he rested his head next to their joined hands.

Jack sighed. This devotion was something rarely seen in humans. Where the mere presence of one is reassurance for the other. These boys were special. It was easy to see that.

But then, everyone in the hunting community knew that about the Winchesters.

There were mountains of stores about the Winchester brothers and how they had stopped the Apocalypse. Taken apart millennia of divine prophecy and told the two most powerful angels in all creation to kiss their asses. And all because they had chosen to cling to each other when everything else was falling apart.

Jack had never put much stock in the stories told in quiet corners of bars. Because, though he knew of what was out there in the dark, he was a man of science after all. But now…

These two little shits had saved the world. And after meeting them, half-frozen, beaten all to hell, with blood caked between their entwined palms, Jack wondered why everyone had ever been worried about the apocalypse in the first place. Atoms couldn't squeeze between these boys.

Noting the cold floor and table with disapproval, and knowing that getting Sam to move would be impossible and most likely result in injuries to both parties, the doctor sighed and walked off to go find some blankets, biting back a smile all the way.


End file.
